


Fish Only Grow to the Size of Their Tanks

by birdcages7



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Billy is a travelling sideshow owner, M/M, steve is a mermaid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdcages7/pseuds/birdcages7
Summary: The crowds always hit its peak around midday. Feeding time. It was advertised on all the posters. A bucket of dead fish were tossed into the tank with abandon from a small standing point above. The smaller fish would nibble on the ones that would sink first. A few restless grumbles would come from the crowd before hands would appear out of the gloom, long webbed fingers grabbing at mackerel, sharp teeth easily tearing the small fish apart, a cloud of guts and blood. But crowds always saw what they wanted too. Always made up what colours they saw, how big, how long. Man or woman.Billy knew the truth.
Kudos: 28





	Fish Only Grow to the Size of Their Tanks

The crowd surrounding the large tank was three people deep. Minimum. It always was. It was always a fight to get up to the glass, to peer into the overly illuminated waters within and see what was inside. Over the heads of others little coral fish swam in schools, keeping each other safe. Small groups of black and white damselfish, yellow tangs darting back and forth along the glass. But the fish weren’t what anyone was looking for with hungry eyes. Gasps would ripple through the crowds as one pair of eyes would spot a shadow. Then another. Then another. Until everyone was focused on the darkest corner of the tank, the only place to hide. The only place where the light didn’t reach. 

No matter where they travelled and what town they made camp in it was always the same. Squat red tent erected. Ten bucks a ticket. There was a small show set up in the rented land around the attraction, rides and amusements, sickly sweet and salty smelling food carts, but that was all an afterthought. The real star lay in the waters. Billy had never known it to be any different. His father had inherited this attraction from his father, who got it from his. No doubt Billy would be the next to take ownership. They travelled the country together in silence most of the time. Billy holding onto resentment. 

_“You don’t need school. What you need to know is how to sell tickets.”_

The crowds always hit its peak around midday. Feeding time. It was advertised on all the posters. A bucket of dead fish were tossed into the tank with abandon from a small standing point above. The smaller fish would nibble on the ones that would sink first. A few restless grumbles would come from the crowd before hands would appear out of the gloom, long webbed fingers grabbing at mackerel, sharp teeth easily tearing the small fish apart, a cloud of guts and blood. But crowds always saw what they wanted too. Always made up what colours they saw, how big, how long. Man or woman.

Billy knew the truth.

He put himself in charge of cleaning up at the end of the day, while his father would drink half of their prophets in his trailer. It was a thankless job, sweeping up trampled on flyers and food trash, stray popcorn kernels and empty soda cans. But without the crowds it was quiet. The only real sounds were the heavy brush dragging along the wooden board floor and a dull echo from the tank of the water inside. It illuminated the tent in an ethereal blue glow. Only when it was quiet, when there wasn’t another soul around, would the creature emerge from its hiding place.

It was always slow at first, checking. Observing. Making sure no one was around but Billy and his broom. Then it was a short drift to the edge of the tank, where Billy had his spot, staring up at the trapped creature before him. Pale blue skin dusted with darker, harder scales. Slender arms scratched with white scar tissue that stretched across its chest from hooks and nets. A long tail that wrapped over itself, a deep imperial purple, small fins that lined either side, one larger one at the end that spread flat and thin, almost translucent and silk like. Chestnut brown hair that fanned around its head like a halo. Deep black eyes like bottomless pits. Gills thin slits either side of its neck.

**‘The Amazing Hargrove Mermaid. Est 1876.’**

Billy put his hand on the glass, palm flat and fingers outstretched. Their greeting. It was always a few moments before the gesture was returned, sharp slender fingers webbed together with plum coloured skin touching the other side of the thick glass.

As a child Billy couldn’t understand why people would pay to see such a thing, but then, he saw it all the time. It was everywhere he looked. Flyers and posters and cheap tacky merchandise. Printed onto popcorn buckets he would sweep up everyday. But as an adult he couldn’t understand why you would want to keep something so beautiful caged up. Even if it was the only one in the world. Or so the advertisements said. Billy was sure there had to be more out there somewhere, the ocean was deep and endless. Who knew what was really out there.

After doing a loop of the tank it pointed up. Up to where the bucket of fish was thrown from. A small ladder with a plank attached. Billy propped his broom and went to start climbing.

_“Why doesn’t it have a name?” Billy had asked once, watching the creature swim restlessly after a long move. It had been stuck in a smaller travel tank because it was easier to move the main tank, which had to be drained each time. The creature had essentially been stuck in a large bathtub for eight hours in the back of the truck._

_“It doesn’t need a name. It's not human,” was his father’s gruff reply._

_That didn’t sit right in Billy’s gut, even dogs have names, so he gave their family’s creature a name. Steve. He didn’t know if Steve was a girl or a boy, but the name felt right to him._

Billy reached the top of the ladder and toed his shoes off, rolled his pant legs up and carefully placed his legs in the water up to his knees. It was warm. It was always warm. Though not through any kind of heating system, just from the fish inside swimming around. From Steve. Steve rose to the top of the tank effortlessly, poked its head out of the water so only its eyes were in the open air. They blinked sideways. Billy remembered being scared by that as a child. Not anymore. Strong hands came up and wrapped around his calf muscles, sharp fingers being gentle in stroking his tan skin. There was a time where this was completely alien to both of them. Billy would only watch from outside the glass. Watch Steve trash restlessly in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep. Over time they came up with signs they both understood. Points and shakes and gestures, one finger for yes and two for no. Billy was still yet to get into the tank completely, aside to clean it when it was empty, but this was good for both of them. Steve liked playing with his legs. Its skin felt like thin slick rubber. It would brush its hands through the fine hairs on his shins, roll its fingers between his toes. It would calm Steve down, something to focus on. Something to play with. 

Billy had given up begging his father to put something else in the tank apart from other small fish. It was waved off as a useless expense. He couldn’t imagine how bored Steve got with nothing to do all day, every day. Maybe his father thought it would bring Steve out more, make it interact with customers, ‘the suckers who bought tickets’, when in reality it just pushed Steve further into the back corner, hiding under the weight and shadow of its own tail for privacy.

Steve’s tail worked lazy underneath its body, slowly but deliberately pushing its body forward between Billy’s legs, coming out of the water more, just enough to put its head on the board where Billy sat. Blew small gentle bubbles from its gills.

Another sign. Steve was calm.

Billy reached down and started raking his fingers through the wet hair. It felt like thick strands of seaweed. Steve liked having its hair played with and stroked, the same way it liked playing with Billy’s toes. Billy was all too happy to do it, to get closer. Understand more. Steve didn’t have ears, didn’t even have holes like birds do. Just more slick hair where they should have been. Billy was gentle and slow. He’d received a quick bite from Steve’s sharp, shark like teeth when he got caught once. He still had the scar on his wrist. It had taken weeks of work to build back up to this level again. But this level is where they stayed. It was the only part of Billy’s day where it was quiet, where he wouldn’t be bothered by another human soul. Where he didn’t feel as trapped here as Steve probably did.

If Billy had his own way, he’d have no part of this. He’d be off living his own life, getting an education, settling down. But travelling was all he knew, all he was allowed to know. Beyond the tent and the endless miles of road was a great big world he knew very little about.

Steve was old. Much older than his family, much much older than Billy, but it always looked young. It never seemed to age. Even when Billy was a child, Steve was the same size it was now, had the same sized tank. Billy did wonder, if out in the open ocean, would it grow? How big should merpeople be? It wasn’t as if anyone had ever done any studies. The government had tried to buy Steve once. Wanted it for experiments and no doubt dissection and biopsies. Billy’s father insisted he would make more money being a travelling sideshow. It was the only time Billy was thankful he was a greedy son of a bitch. He couldn’t imagine Steve being killed, having its skin stretched out over a table, internal organs poked and prodded and preserved in jars. Taken apart just to be put back together again, stuffed and on display in a museum somewhere. All the little flickers of life that radiated through its body gone forever.

“One day I’ll set you free,” Billy spoke softly. He felt Steve hum under his fingertips. Steve couldn’t speak, but it could make noises. Little hums and purrs and piercing hisses when it was afraid. Like when crowds would bang on the glass of the tank to get Steve to come out. Billy was sure everyone could hear the warning hiss that vibrated around the tent but no one ever seemed to bat an eye otherwise. It was just another thing he hadn’t quite understood yet. Billy had promised freedom before though. So many times. He just had to rely on his father not selling everything before it was his. 

“You can be happy out there. Free.” Steve swirled its tail in the water slowly, blues reflecting off the glimmering purple scales, differences in shade only noticeable close up. Billy was never really sure if Steve could really understand what he said, but its reactions were always encouraging. “I promise.”

Steve purred low and rolled its head, placing its chin on the board to look upwards directly at Billy, studying. It was a while before Billy felt a squeeze around his ankle. Just one.

_Yes_.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love anatomically correct mermaids/merfolk. Ones that aren't all pretty and sweet, ones that look more like sea monsters. So this spilled out of that. Hope you enjoyed. I may come back to this AU in future, I'm not sure yet.
> 
> [Tumblr page.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)


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